Opus

Rain in September

The street light is soft on the
water's edge, yellow in a the grey afternoon
that is slowly turning blue. I remember everything
that longs to be remembered, the warmth of
candlelight evenings in my childhood home, the
coconut tree in the backyard, grandmother's voice,
meeting places, the colour of a friend's shirt,
escaping the city in September rain.
The street light flickers. I think of the infinities
where it rained and the infinites where
it didn't. The street light flickers, I remember
and I forget the light of other places,
an obscure new wave cinema that feels like a
fever dream. My body burns
with the memory of an old caress.